take the heartland
by BerryliciousCheerio
Summary: She swears this is going to kill her. #7 in Bay-verse. Highly suggest going in order.


**Surprise! I found this one complete in my admittedly MASSIVE writing folder (I seriously need to organize...), so I thought I'd add it. Just warning you, it's rather short. And perhaps a little emotional. But, whatever, I get a free pass today, and everyday following this. Oh, and another warning; my grandmother was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, so my updates may be fewer and further in between, and possibly a tad darker than normal. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or Take the Heartland by Glen Hansard.**

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**_commence_**

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She thought it would have been easier than this. Ever since Cato strode up onto that stage to take his place next to her, she knew that he would insist on it being this way, with her as Victor and him as a corpse in a pine coffin.

She really thinks that it ought to be the other way around –he's still a better parent than her, she's not quite sure how she'll manage it without him– but he's adamant about it. He tells her that no child should grow up without a mother, and his eyes cloud over, so she doesn't argue any more, but she still wants it to be the other way around.

But then, god, his mother walks in, Bay in her arms, and she can't think of anything else but coming back alive for this, for her daughter's eyes lighting up when she spots her mother, for the mumble of "Mama" (something new, she notes. Last week, she had only been saying "No"), for the feeling of her daughter in her arms, clinging to her.

Bay starts crying the minute she's out of her grandmother's arms, and she clings to her mother like a life raft, burying her little face in her mother's shoulder, little hands fisting in the silky blue material of her mother's dress. Clove swallows a traitorous lump rising in her throat and whispers in the shell of her daughter's ear that it'll be alright, that mama's just going away for a little while, that she'll be back soon, she promises.

And, normally, she's not one for promises –promises are for the weak, her parents beat it into her– but she'll be as weak as she needs to be to come back home for her child, she'll make as many promises as she needs to because she'll be damned if she doesn't keep them.

She hugs Bay a little closer, running her fingers through her daughter's silken ebony curls, trying to memorize this feeling, the way Bay's baby-soft skin feels, the way her heart feels like it's expanding and she swears this is going to kill her. The small, impossibly dark corner of her mind whispers that, yes, this separation will kill her. If an arrow or a sword or –she snorts at this– a knife doesn't first.

Bay screams like it's killing her when she tries to pass her off to her grandmother, and she –god– she didn't realize that having a heart meant this much pain.

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**XxXxXxX**

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He prides himself on being a good father. Affectionate, but not overly so, patient, but knows when to draw the line. He considers it one of his best accomplishments, right up there with slicing his first dummy in half and managing to kiss Clove without a receiving a punch in retaliation.

But, when his mother carries in Bay, whose cheeks are red and stained with tears, and her eyes start welling up, he thinks he's the worst parent in the world.

He takes the baby from his mother, whose pressing a handkerchief to her mouth and whose eyes are watery, but that doesn't matter, because Bay's got her pudgy little arms wrapped tight around his neck, the small fingernails of her hands digging into his skin, but he doesn't care.

He rubs her back as soothingly as possibly, which is hard, because his hands are damn near shaking. He bounces her a little, like he's seen Clove do sometimes, but it's not helping, and Bay's not even crying, anyway. So, he's content to sit there, holding his little girl tight, and pretending that he's just going off to training and that he'll see her in eight hours.

But he won't.

And the Peacekeepers that walk in after exactly five minutes remind him of this. He doesn't want them to touch his daughter, doesn't want these bastards to even get near his little girl, so he tries to hand her over to his mother quickly, but Bay hangs on with surprising strength, silent but stubborn. Just like her mother, he muses.

He watches her dark head bobbing up and down over his mother's shoulder as she's taken away.

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_**fin**_

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**Okay, so, again, this is my last update for a while, unfortunately. But, I hope you enjoyed it! And please, express such enjoyment in a review, s'il vous plait!**


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